


Co-dependent Variable

by luckbuster



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Drugging, Fingering, Just to be safe, Other, aphrodesiac, but there's also drugging and some people might not be okay with that, dubcon, i know there's spoken consent, i tried to stick to simple words/phrases so it'd translate well but what can you do, i wanted them to speak icelandic, intersex bloodhound, miragehound, my first contribution to this fandom ended up being incredibly self-indulgent, safe sex, shitty google translate icelandic, why are you posting my tags out of order ao3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckbuster/pseuds/luckbuster
Summary: Ever open to new ideas, Caustic decides to test out a new kind of poison in King's Canyon, and Bloodhound ends up an unwitting recipient. Without a lot of survival options, the hunter ends up having to turn to an unlikely source of help--their incredibly awkward teammate.





	Co-dependent Variable

**Author's Note:**

> PM me for questions if you have 'em but I just wanted to write something horny and I didn't really bother doing research on how the apex universe works :V. Any inaccuracies just consider it an AU lmao
> 
> Icelandic translations at the bottom of the fic
> 
> ((Note: I'm going with a non-breast top area and a non-dick bottom area for Bloodhound just based on personal preference. No intent to step on people's headcanons or whatever may be revealed as canon later.))
> 
> HEADS UP: This story contains drugging of a character (I tried to put a notice in the tags). If this is something that upsets you, please go back to the previous page and feel free to check out something that is more suited to your comfort level. Thanks! :)

Too must dust was being kicked up on the edge of the gulch, leaving Mirage’s visibility distance at...twenty, thirty...well, way worse than he’d prefer. He inhaled, turning to press his back to the open door that shielded him. Where was his team? How far away were they, and how would he know not to shoot them? With a swallow to steel his confidence, he sent out a decoy (first giving it a reassuring high-five) and waited.

A short distance away, he caught the slightest click of a safety being removed, followed by a hushed, “Wait.” His double proceeded untouched before fizzling out after a few paces. Was that a good sign? He got low, taking the chance to peek his face out from behind the door.

“Mirage?”

At the soft utterance of his name, his shoulders fell with relief. He knew that friendly cadence by heart.

“Lifeline!” He called excitedly, only to be quickly shushed.

Her blue-gloved hand waved him over from a gap in the bunker wall. “Hurry!”

RE-45 cocked with caution, he dashed out of hiding, hoping to just make a quick break for the next bunker. He dove into a sharp slide, clearing the low divider, and collected himself on the other side. To his delight, his teammates were waiting, Lifeline already taking a look at his light wounds, and Bloodhound perched diligently by the window.

“All good?” the hunter inquired, not turning from their vantage point.

“Yeah, just a bit scuffed up,” Mirage affirmed.

Lifeline poured some antiseptic onto a cloth and dabbed his scrapes, sighing exasperatedly. “Please don't just dart out before the signal. We're running out of open space here.”

“Right, right, sorry. Messed up my aim with the balloon drop.” He wheezed as his teammate shoved a syringe into his bicep, wincing at the jolt of in-flowing fluid. It took a second to shake the stiffness out of it, but he tried to speed up the process so he could arm himself quickly. At the window, Bloodhound was muttering quietly to themselves, adjusting the scope on their ranged rifle.

There was a loud clattering outside, and Mirage looked up to see a small chunk of a nearby tin wall crumble to the ground.

“They’re close.” A shudder overtook Bloodhound as their mask lenses began to glow, and they ducked away from the window to approach their two teammates on the ground. Mirage watched as they paused, listening, then went rigid.

“Do you hear them?” he whispered, standing up. 

The tracker shook their head, but added a hushed, “I smell something. Chemical.”

Lifeline jumped up, gripping her semi-automatic. “Caustic!”

Outside, the sound of a poison trap being activated punctured the quiet, and the three dashed for the opposite exit. Mirage quickly sent a decoy, casting it to look like he was climbing out the window. Before the image even got onto the sill, it was shot square in the head.

“Jesus, book it!” he shouted.

No need for stealth now that they’d been caught. He bolted out across the sand, hearing the loud crack of the door behind him being kicked in. It splintered and fell, knocking up dust in the wake of a pair of heavy boots. Chuckling low, Caustic held up a shotgun, pointing the barrel into the encroaching cloud of mist. “I’d rather not chase you down. You’ll be too tired for me to see the effects of my new toxins.”

“Don’t toy with your targets.” Bangalore was not far behind, though keeping her distance from the noxious fumes of her teammate’s traps.

Mirage kept running, hearing his own party scrambling to escape in the mess of bunkers and metal shacks all crammed into this part of the gulch. He was awfully low on bullets, or he’d try for a surprise dive. What good was having all this cover if their enemies were just going to gas them out? If only he had an opportunity to coordinate with Bloodhound, maybe they could cover him with the ranged weapon they’d picked up…

“M--ge!” Lifeline’s voice was coming in scratchy and weak in his earpiece. Were their communications still breaking up? He pressed a finger to the comm button, gasping, “Are you alright?” Waited. Shit, no response. His at least was still out.

Tink! Tink!

Huh? What was that? Debris?

Tink! Ti--chk!

“Ah!” Something tiny whizzed past him, impacting a tarp very near where he was crouching. Surprised, he leaned in close to it, carefully plucking it from the canvas with his gloved hand. It was a needle, not much larger than one used for sewing, but with a small bulb of some kind of liquid at the end. A dart?

“Mirage! Behind you!”

His earpiece whined loudly as Lifeline called to him, but he was at least able to make out what she was saying. Whipping around, he caught sight of a streak of sand dug toward a lowered cellar, beneath one of the weathered buildings. His teammates must have slid into the relative cover of the basement. Hoping not to be seen, he hurried after them, crouching low and approaching a gap in the foot-level steel. A peeled-back corner yielded just enough space for him to wriggle inside. Eyes wide and scanning for their enemies, he dropped down boots-first, only turning to look at his teammates once he’d hit the concrete floor.

“Do you think this is a good idea, hiding here?” he asked nervously. “Bangalore can just toss a grenade in and smoke us all into the afterlife.”

Lifeline turned back from where she was kneeling, setting up a heal drone. Her brows were knitted worriedly. “We don’t have a choice right now. Hound’s been shot.”

From below her, the breathless voice of their tracker croaked through their heavy mask. “I-I’m fine Lifeline, I can sustain bullets.

The healer winced, shoving two fingers beneath the collar of Bloodhound’s coat. “Your pulse is jumping. Can you move?”

“Barely. I feel so heavy.” Slumping back, Bloodhound uttered, “There’s no time, you need to go.”

“Nah buddy, we’re not leaving you here,” Mirage countered, scooting closer. It was a bit disconcerting to hear the hunter sounding so weak. What exactly…?

He spotted a flash of blue on Bloodhound’s thigh, and reached forward to pull out a dart identical to the one that nearly hit him in the sand. It’s store of poison was drained, likely into their teammate’s bloodstream. Worried, he held it out to Lifeline.

“This must be Caustic’s,” she concluded, taking it with great caution. “I wish I had time to analyze what was in it. I think I might just have to go for a boost of adrenaline, but…” A hand on her nearby drone, she looked over the small glowing displays, several cables hooked up to Bloodhound. “Your heart rate is already so fast. If I’m not careful I could send you into cardiac arrest. You can’t shoot if you’re having a heart attack.”

Beneath their mask, Bloodhound was starting to wheeze, their breathing growing labored. Mirage, wanting to help, grabbed their ranged rifle, moving to the gap in the wall where they’d all slid inside. He pointed the barrel forward, peeking through the scope. From here, he could see the bunker where they’d been hiding before. Caustic and Bangalore had abandoned that location, moving instead toward another part of the gulch. By the sound of it, they were being shot at, and chose to take on the more immediate threat than worry about their escaped prey. He let out a long-held breath, turning to crumple into the stone wall of the underground room.

“They guys on our ass have found some other asses to shoot. Take a few minutes and find out what’s wrong with Hound,” he sighed, gesturing toward Lifeline.

She nodded, though her face fell as the heal drone started to beep with alarm. “Hound, your temperature is spiking. We need to get your coat off.”

Even in their weakened state, they seemed defensive. “I’d rather not.”

“Bud, c’mon, you’re gonna die,” Mirage pressed. “I won’t look, and Lifeline’s a doctor so if she tells anyone what she sees you can sue her.”

Despite the tension, Lifeline snorted.

Bloodhound struggled to sit up but slumped back, weighed down by their own sluggish limbs. “Just open the front, please.”

With Lifeline’s help, the series of buckles and clasps were undone, and Mirage politely turned his eye back out the window. Activity had largely subsided on their side of the battleground, though it was hard to say how much longer they had before the ring started to close in on them. God, if only he could check the damn comms! He fussed with his earpiece, deciding it was alright to take a minute to mess with it. Was it the connection? The wiring?

“Haah...please, hang...wait a second,” Bloodhound choked. It was so hard not to turn his head, but Mirage kept his gaze locked on the little receiver in his hands. “M-my...mask…”

“Want me to take it off?”

“Just the mouth. Too hot…”

This was killing Mirage, not even glancing at the reflection in his visor. Weren’t they teammates? Couldn’t he see some of the mystery combatant if it was a life-or-death situation?

“Uh, hey, can I help?”

There was a pause, as Lifeline offered a soft, “Hound, I could use an extra pair of hands. You’re heavy.”

“Ah, okay, just...say nothing.”

Mirage, stomach jumping, nodded, and turned to approach his poisoned comrade. Their chest was almost exposed except for a thin, dark shirt, obviously well-toned but trembling as they fought for air. He watched their dry, chapped lips part, canines a bit unusually pointed. A light pang of warmth bubbled in him, and he felt the need to form a decoy just so he could slap himself.

_‘Really, buddy? A tight chest and sharp teeth and you lose it right away, huh? Your pal is dying you jackass.’_

“Do you, uh...need me to hold them up?” he asked shakily.

“Yeah, this dust isn’t helping,” Lifeline grunted, pushing Bloodhound up by the shoulders. Once they were in a mostly-sitting position, Mirage moved behind them to bolster their posture. Even through their thick coat, he could feel the strong muscles in Bloodhound’s back, the cords twitching as the toxins wracked their body. Jeez, this must have been unpleasant to deal with in the middle of a battlefield. Not at all helping was that one of their only teammates was trying really, really hard not to pop a boner.

 _“Þakka þér fyrir,”_ the hunter murmured, allowing themselves to rest against Mirage. “Just...see what you can do.”

Taking the opportunity, Lifeline decided she’d risk analyzing the dart and opened a hatch on her pod, dropping it inside. The device chirped as it scanned the contents, little lights and alerts popping up periodically. Her eyes thoughtfully picked through the information fed to her, Mirage feeling a bit like dead weight as she worked. Well, that made two of them. Ha ha.

“It’s...some kind of...not quite neurotoxin.” She input some keystrokes, looking through the identified components. “There are suggestions of a barbiturate, but it’s not...uh…”

“Is it fatal?” Hound inquired.

“Oh.”

“What, what is it?” Mirage pressed. “Is it contagious? Is it going to turn their body into...some kind of gassy corpse bomb that’ll destroy everything around it?”

Lifeline’s lips were pursed with confused discomfort. “I’d guess...I mean...I think it’s supposed to be some kind of...aphrodisiac?”

There was a pregnant pause. After a moment, Bloodhound spoke up.

“Check again.”

“No, I’m sure. Certain components for this could really only be used for that kind of thing. I just...think it’s an odd choice,” Lifeline conceded.

Mirage couldn’t fight a choked laugh. “What? That’s an understatement. What would that even do in a battle?”

“Well it’s clearly doing something,” the medic insisted, a touch defensive. With that, she cast an incredulous eye at Bloodhound. “So, um...how are you feeling?”

Bloodhound again attempted to force a sitting position, but to little success. “Like I’m made of lead and...wrapped in wool. Not the least bit aroused.”

“Maybe it’s supposed to create similar conditions? Like desert fever?” Mirage suggested, not really sure what he was talking about.

“Perhaps.” Teeth grit, the hunter shifted again, this time managing to kneel forward. Lifeline pressed a gentle hand to their shoulder to steady them. Suddenly though, they gasped, and turned their lenses downward. “Uh. Oh. Maybe...it is...having some adverse effects.”

“Like what?” Mirage couldn’t help it. This would answer a question he’d had since he’d met Bloodhound. Even in this tense situation, he just wanted to know.

Not relenting, Bloodhound whipped their gaze up to glare at their teammate, but soon lost their balance from the resulting head rush. Lifeline helped lower them onto their back, nibbling her lower lip anxiously as she struggled for a solution.

“Hound…” she muttered. “I don’t want to be...well, pushy about this, but I don’t have anything on hand that can cure your condition. I don’t have antivenom that can break down the enzymes in you right now. All I can suggest is--”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“What? What are you suggesting?” Mirage questioned.

Lifeline gave him a stern look. “Mirage and I can cover you, just take a minute to relieve yourself. We’ll give you some privacy.”

“No, Lifeline, I’m sorry, but that’s...impertinent,” Bloodhound insisted.

Mirage was wearing a wide grin, kind of appreciating the opportunity to tease them. “C’mon, it’s just for medical purposes. We won’t look, we’ll just be outside the room listening.”

Lifeline swatted his arm. “You aren’t helping.”

Though the flush of fever was tinting their skin, Bloodhound still managed to turn visibly red. “I...If it will keep us safe. I will be quick.”

With a nod, Lifeline got to her feet, taking Mirage by the arm and pulling him into the next room, carefully shutting the battered metal door behind the two of them.

“I kind of don’t understand the modesty,” Mirage whispered, thumbing back toward their comrade. “We’d be able to hear them breathing through these beaten up old walls.”

“Hound is very private. If this is what will fix their condition, I’ll allow them some space.” Lifeline cocked her semi-automatic, inclining her head toward the stairway behind them. “I’ll watch our position from upstairs. You keep an eye on things down here, okay?”

“Sure, got it. I’m the boner guard.”

Smiling despite herself, Lifeline shook her head, moving to prowl up the stairs. Mirage in turn held his gun at the ready, creeping over to a small gap near the low ceiling. Thankfully, his impulsive need to make jokes was somewhat overriding his flustered discomfort, and this was now becoming a lot more funny than awkward. He was hiding in the desert with a sniper rifle while his professional and highly decorated tracker teammate was struggling to masturbate in the next room. That was hilarious. Who knew Caustic was a prankster? Y’know, in his horribly unethical bio-terrorist sort of way.

A small hiss caught his attention, but he kept his eyes on the sand outside. He needed to focus on potential threats that might approach, not on the noises in the next room. Even if it was hard not to hear them in the near-silence of the bunker. Even if, now that he was paying attention, it was also really hard to keep back the mental image of Bloodhound’s sweaty, muscled body shifting heatedly beneath that heavy coat. They were audibly panting, either frustrated or off to a good start. He swallowed. This wasn’t so difficult. He could just listen very hard for distant gunshots and ignore any breathless little sounds inside the building.

_“H...helvíti…”_

“Okay, bud? Making a bit of a racket,” he blurted before he could stop himself. Ah shit, that probably wasn’t helping.

“Mirage?”

 _‘Oh c’mon, don’t do this.’_ He wanted to punch himself in the face. Focus!

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I…” Even Bloodhound’s speech was labored. “I may kill myself for this later...but...could I...could I…”

Mirage’s spine was rigid. “Could you what?”

“Actually, never mind.”

“Do you need help?” Was this funny? Or hideously, painfully awkward?

Bloodhound cursed softly, clearly extremely uncomfortable. “I can’t feel my arms.”

Okay, it was pretty funny.

“Exactly how much torque are you trying to implement here? You seem to still have some motor functions.”

More huffed swearing, though the hunter’s tone was measured. “I just...I don't dare ask Lifeline. She's a doctor, it's inappropriate.”

“But not inappropriate to ask your good buddy the techno-illusionist?”

“It is slightly less inappropriate. Though now I am considering just asking for a mercy killing and for you two to escape. I do not want an enemy to find me like this.”

“Weak?”

“Undignified.”

Mirage snorted. However tough and merciless Bloodhound seemed on the battlefield, it took surprisingly little to fluster them. He grinned, adding, “So all you’d like is a little hand service? Aren't you going to treat me to dinner first? It's only polite.”

Bloodhound’s formal tone was dropped. “Mirage, I will pay off all of your accumulated debt if you swear not to tell a soul about this.”

Now that was an offer that piqued Mirage’s interest. He pressed a hand to the door, asking brightly, “Really?”

“I will, just hurry. We don't have much time.”

With renewed confidence, Mirage pulled the door open, slinking over to where his comrade lay slumped on the floor. That poise, however, was punctured quickly at the sight of Bloodhound. Their coat was open, shirt pulled up over their badly scarred stomach and heavy pants lowered over their hipline. The front zipper was undone, and though nothing vital was exposed Mirage could make out a faint slick of fluid just above the waistband of their underwear. Mortified, the hunter was facing away, their exposed jaw and neck fully flushed. One hand was ungloved, a forefinger marking the other end of the fluid trail. Mirage tried to toss out a funny quip to break the mood, but only managed an odd whine.

“Look, I am...not at all comfortable with this,” Bloodhound murmured quietly. “I’d rather you be extracting a bullet from my guts.”

Despite his nerves, Mirage felt a pang of sympathy. “Hey, it's nothing personal, right? I'm just helping...uh...treat an injury? A condition. There we go. It's to keep us alive.”

“To keep _me_ alive. I recognize that,” Bloodhound admitted. They turned to look up at him. “I have to thank you.”

Mirage blushed visibly. “Well, haha, don't, don’t thank me yet. Not until we're out of here.”

Face relaxing, Bloodhound nodded. They struggled to readjust their position, limbs clearly heavy. With some help from Mirage, they were able to shift to something more comfortable. Their legs were no longer somewhat crumpled, and they were able to rest back on their hips to allow Mirage better access.

The illusionist glanced down awkwardly, then away. “You, uh...need some help with your…?”

Bloodhound caught that he was pointing at their pants. “Just enough for you to get to it.”

Hands trembling, Mirage grasped the waistband of their combat gear and slowly tugged it down. It took a moment given that Bloodhound couldn't quite lift themselves up, so when Mirage gave their pants a hard jerk, they suddenly slipped halfway down their thighs. All pretense of caution was fumbled, and in an instant, the hunter was fully exposed. Mirage wanted to wince or apologize, but was honestly just stunned.

“Oh...you're--”

“You know what I am,” Bloodhound hissed, still red.

Mirage clammed up, then replied, “Right, sorry. I just mean...I'm surprised.”

Bloodhound’s tone was softer. “Please keep it to yourself.”

Nodding, Mirage scooted closer, removing his left glove. His hand was a bit dirty from being out in the battlefield. Just a little sand, nothing a quick wipe on his shirt couldn't fix. He might also have been stalling for time, trying to figure out how exactly to start this. All he had to do was slide his hand down between Bloodhound’s legs. Just...touch it. Until he got his teammate off.

Hoo. Okay. He could do this.

“Uhh...here comes the airplane.”

“Dear gods.”

Mirage swallowed audibly, chuckling with nerves as he lowered his hand. Two fingers touched down on soft skin, so dissimilar to the rest of Bloodhound’s battle-worn body. At the contact, the hunter flinched, turning their head. Mirage shakily eased a digit forward, against the part in the plush lips, immediately easing free a dribble of fluid. He felt heat flooding his own lower extremities, almost matching the stifling warmth around Bloodhound’s groin. This was just a procedure, just medical, just business. They were coworkers, partners at best, and there was no need to read any intimacy into what should have been a tense and uncomfortable situation. He reaffirmed himself with a smooth stroke of his finger, dipping down against the pool of wetness to slide back up, quick and straight like the flick of a trigger.

“G-gentle,” Bloodhound gasped quietly, sharp canines threatening to clench over their lower lip.

Mirage, half-melting, obliged, starting a slow, delicate pace of petting against his teammate’s panting entrance and the sensitive node above. Bloodhound fought not to squirm beneath his hand, breathing open-mouthed with their weak arms twitching against the ground. Mirage felt his stomach drop, his pants uncomfortably tight, and cautiously edged his attention lower. Their inner lips parted easily for him, heat open and trembling already. Should he just push inside? The anxiety in his gut kept him from going too fast, lest he cross a line with his reserved companion. That being said, the noises Bloodhound was starting to make bordered on helpless.

“D-d-do you, um...w-want it inside?” he asked meekly.

Bloodhound nearly choked out, “Please, I can't take the teasing.”

More heat gushed downward, Mirage coughing awkwardly into his shoulder. “Alright, y-you got it buddy.”

With two fingers, he gingerly began to press into Bloodhound’s opening, and was surprised to be met with little resistance. His teammate moaned softly, able to grip the hem of their coat. Mirage was hit with the dizzying realization that he at that moment was a few knuckles deep in the hunter’s needy, throbbing heat. This was...god, the sensation on only his hand was making him want to writhe against his stupid constrictive armor. He dipped in and out, much to Bloodhound’s vocal delight, fighting to ignore the decadently slick squeezing on his fingers. Brains addled, he felt an awful compulsion to start talking and break the silence.

“Does this feel good?” he inquired, looking up at Bloodhound’s masked face. Even seeing just their mouth, he had a pretty good idea of the answer to his question.

“Mm...mhm…” Bloodhound uttered, barely focused.

Mirage pushed deeper, curling his fingertips and eliciting a sharp whimper from Bloodhound. He bit back an embarrassing noise of his own as he eased in a third finger, trying to hide his now-obvious erection.

“H-hey, uh, m-m-maybe you should quiet down a little. I know the idea is to get you to uh, to get you off, but,” he glanced over his shoulder at the stairway. “Lifeline might hear. Or an enemy.”

“R-right, right,” Bloodhound breathed, lifting a badly shaking arm to cover their mouth. He could see pearly teeth sinking into the battered skin--the best they could manage under the circumstances.

Hoping to take advantage of the muffle, Mirage pushed deeper. He stirred and twisted against the tight confines of Bloodhound’s heat, watching saliva dribble down from their clenched jaw. They were groaning into their own flesh, panting hard, hips starting to limply buck in response to the attention. Mirage closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath as he tried very, very hard to imagine the enemies lurking outside. Danger was likely just over his shoulder, ready to blow his head off along with everyone in his squad. That's why he was doing this; to protect his team. He needed to focus on that, not the horribly wanton way Bloodhound was now pushing back against him, having mustered enough strength to try and force his hand deeper. He whined out loud, quickly biting his knuckle. C’mon! How much more did they need?

“M...Mirage.”

His guts clenched at the sound of his name, erection throbbing painfully. “Y-yeah?”

Bloodhound was facing him, jaw slack as their arm slumped back to the stone. Their voice was hoarse as they uttered, “Were you...hit?”

“What? No, no I'm fine, is something--?” Mirage’s voice caught in his throat as he realized what they meant: their lenses were directed at the swollen bulge in his combat gear. Panicked, he sputtered, “Oh, jesus it’s not, I didn't mean to, th-this is just a mis--a mist--mistun...an accident! I'm not trying to make this weird, haha!”

Bloodhound paused, then let their head rest back with a sense of resignation. “Mirage, this isn't working. The drug is too potent.”

The illusionist frowned as he slowed his hand, carefully pulling it free. Viscous liquid clung to his skin, which he hastily wiped on his leg. “Am I not doing that good? I'll admit, I'm not really used to...that...part. The part you have.”

“No, it's--” Bloodhound sighed. They glanced up at the gap in the wall above, at the sandy wasteland outside. 

Mirage winced. It was a miracle that they hadn't been executed by the closing ring; they had precious little time to get to safety, yet Bloodhound could still barely stand. The rushing hormones in their head seemed to be starting to ease the weight of their limbs, but it wasn't enough to be combat ready. He could see a tightness about their jaw as they mulled over how to proceed. Were they having second thoughts?

“You okay? You don't have to keep this up if it's upsetting. I bet me and Lifeline could carry you.”

Bloodhound turned back to Mirage, a little caught off-guard. There was a sense of quiet surprise to their expression, perhaps with Mirage’s patient bedside manner. They croaked, “You're honestly still concerned about my comfort in all this. That's kind of you.”

“Well yeah, we're teammates. This is weird and awkward but I'm willing to do what I can to help.”

Bloodhound stared up at Mirage's earnest face, letting out a hoarse chuckle.

“I...this might be asking a lot.”

Mirage shook his head, eyeing the stairs again. “Nah buddy, what can I do?” He felt a churning in his stomach, both with concern and the rush of nerves that was hitting him now that they weren't mid-act. There was also an inkling of guilt, perhaps from the notion that he was under-performing, but he bit it back. “Should I get Lifeline?”

Now Bloodhound looked like they were losing their grit. They mumbled a dry, “Do you...er...have a condom?”

The meaning didn't click with Mirage right away. “For my hand? Am I dirty?”

Flushed, Bloodhound cleared their throat, gesturing with a limp hand toward Mirage’s restrictive pants. There was a few seconds of confused silence before Mirage’s eyes went wide, and he immediately began to fumble over his outburst.

“Wh-wh-what do--? You want m-me to, well, but this is--it's not, I mean I could b-but---wh-well, I…” He gulped loudly. “Why?”

Bloodhound chewed their lower lip. “Well, like I said, it's asking a lot. You needn't if I'm being presumptuous, but...you seem...erm…” They glanced down, shivering slightly. “I think it might help.”

Mirage wasn't quite sure how to respond, except that when he fully processed what Bloodhound was asking for, he kind of forgot that they were still under attack. As long as he bit back every blaring survival instinct in his brain--which was astonishingly easy to blanket with lust--this was absolutely something he was capable of. If he could stop stammering.

“Y-yeah, I mean, hell this won't be the first time I’ve uh, y’know, taken care of business under fire. Kind of. No, I'm lying, this is kind of terrifying. But also? Super hot. If that's not weird.”

“A little,” Bloodhound conceded, surprisingly good-naturedly. “Now, do you have one? We have precious little time.”

Mirage felt over his own pockets, checking his combat gear for any sort of personal belongings. Why on earth would he have a condom out here? It seemed like kind of a dumb request on Bloodhound’s part, given that...oh wait, he had his wallet...and, uh...yeah, actually, he was carrying a condom. An old and probably dusty one, but it’d do in this situation. He hastily pulled it out, about to open it before Bloodhound stopped him, tugging lightly at his pants. Oh right, he needed to disrobe a little first.

“Should I undress?”

“No, only expose what you need. The clock is ticking.”

“Gotcha.” Holding the wrapper in his teeth, he fiddled with the multitude of straps and buckles over his waist before getting to his waistband, unfastening it. With some maneuvering he managed to free his erection, groaning low in relief as it slid through the opening in his clothes. Trying to hurry, he made quick work of opening the condom. Slick latex pressed against his skin as he unrolled it, the squeezing a bit uncomfortable at first. He took a few indulgent pumps, sighing heatedly, before moving over to Bloodhound.

“Don't worry about lubricant,” the hunter advised.

Noted. Mirage could see the fluid still dribbling insistently from their flushed lips. “I’ll just hold your legs up, okay?” He slid a hand under each of Bloodhound's thighs, struggling to heft them upward with how slack their teammate’s entire body was. He hadn't really thought about how heavy they might be with their armor--it would be quite a task to drag them around the wasteland, even with Lifeline’s help. After a moment of pushing and awkwardly adjusting Bloodhound’s pants, he was in position, his length inches from their opening. It took a lot not to appear eager. Or nervous. He wasn't sure if he was managing either.

“You good? Sh-should I…?” he stammered.

Bloodhound, in a rare instance of submission, breathed, “Please.”

Mirage didn't need to be told twice. Biting his lip, he slid inside, glad immediately he'd muffled himself. The warmth around just the tip was electric, and the light throbbing of Bloodhound's hammering pulse had his head spinning. He felt his companion’s heat giving smoothly at the pressure, so he eased deeper with a low groan. Bloodhound shuddered in response. 

“That...good?” Mirage wheezed, desperate to keep his voice down.

Bloodhound managed a nod, chest heaving, as they shakily lifted a hand. Their ungloved fingers met the delicate node above their opening and they gasped as they the pressed against it. The sight of them dipping their forefinger in quick circles, huffing messily through their sharp teeth, had Mirage swallowing back an embarrassing noise. He got a firmer grip on their hips, pushing more fervently into them. 

“Ah, _fjandinn,”_ Bloodhound uttered, letting their head fall back. Their helm made a light clunking sound against the stone.

Mirage clenched his jaw, riding the intoxicating sensation of Bloodhound's heat squeezing him. Even with the pressure of a time limit, he was already so close. He fell into a steady rhythm, catching Bloodhound’s breath in their chest with each successive pound. They were barely containing heated whimpers as they fought to maintain contact with their trembling fingers. Mirage watched their back arch and their abdominals tighten, teeth clenched openly. They were contracting around him, a dribble of saliva trailing from the corner of their mouth.

 _“Guðir…”_ Bloodhound uttered, their free hand squeezing the fabric of their coat. “G...gods, don't stop…”

Mirage closed his eyes and tilted his head back, reveling in the friction. “Th-that good?”

Before they could respond, Bloodhound suddenly jolted, clenching a hand over their mouth to keep quiet. They groaned hoarsely into the muffle, and Mirage could feel the mounting tightness in their heat contract, then abruptly melt into the shudder of release. Their hard-throbbing walls had him on the edge, stomach twisting. He glanced up as sweat was beginning to curl down his face. Bloodhound was trembling, lips parted, body stiff and gripped in the aftershocks of orgasm. The decadent sight coupled with the building pressure was enough to send him over, and he spilled with a needy whimper into Bloodhound’s heat. His legs nearly buckled as he slumped forward, sputtering as he caught himself on the ground with both hands. His chest heaved and he struggled to collect himself.

“How do...you feel?” Mirage murmured, slowly coming down off his high. He straightened himself up, holding onto Bloodhound’s heavy thighs.

The hunter was breathing slowly through a slack mouth, hardly moving. “I..oh...ughhhh…”

“You okay?” More concern in his tone, Mirage carefully pulled himself from his teammate, hissing softly at the sensation. Now free, the condom was quickly discarded, and he hastily wiped off what mess he could before pulling his pants back up. “Hey, c’mon, talk to me.”

Bloodhound coughed, their body growing rigid as pain started to bloom from their core. “Hhaah, _skít,_ that hurts. I-I'm able to move but...gods, I feel like I've had the blood drained from me.”

“Ah, fuck,” Mirage muttered, getting to his feet. Had he made it worse? What the hell was he supposed to do now? “Hang on, I’ll get Lifeline.”

His teammate was groaning, this time from discomfort as they struggled to tug their pants back on, fighting against the odd twist the material had ended up in. Mirage hurried to open the battered door but was immediately met with an approaching Lifeline, yelping in panic as they nearly bumped into each other. She also jumped, reflexively gripping her gun, but relaxed slightly when she saw who it was.

“I was just coming to get you. The circle’s almost on us,” she explained, trying to peer over his shoulder. “How's Hound? Did it work?”

Across the room, the hunter was fumbling on the ground, teeth audibly grit as they called back, “I have motor functions again, but I am in a fair bit of pain.”

Lifeline caught sight of them with their pants almost back on and averted her eyes politely. “Get decent. I'll try a jump from the med kit and see if that sets you right.”

Bloodhound refastened their belt and sat up, snarling low as the sting of movement hit them. “I'm ready, please do.”

Lifeline wasted no time equipping her syringe and stepping over to her comrade, peeling back the top of their coat. The needle jabbed into their flesh, eliciting a hiss but also a recline in their shoulders as the fluid began to drain into them.

“That's already feeling better.”

The doctor shook her head, glancing up at the part of the building she’d been camping. “Hold onto that if you can. The ring is gonna sweep through here any second.”

Mirage crouched down next to Bloodhound, quite red in the face and a little unsure of what to say now that the heat of their encounter was dwindling, replaced with the tension of impending conflict. “Think you can stand?”

Syringe making a small squelch as it was withdrawn, Bloodhound exhaled, touching their chest. “I think so.” With a grunt, they pushed themselves up onto their feet, taking Lifeline’s offered hand for support. It seemed they were stable after a second of testing their balance. They nodded toward Mirage, then buckled their coat back up and reattached the mouth of their mask. He could hear them draw a long, slow breath through the filters. “Thanks for your patience.”

“You’re good,” Mirage chuckled. He headed over to Bloodhound’s rifle, picking it up along with his own firearm. The weapon was tossed back and promptly caught, Bloodhound cocking it readily. They exchanged a silent glance, a sort of “let’s not talk about this right now” look. With a quick peek out the window, Mirage gestured for his teammates to follow behind him.

“Let me see if anyone’s outside,” Bloodhound offered. They activated their radial scan, checking for activity in the nearby area. “I don’t see anyone. There’s a trail of footprints nearby, but nothing recent.”

Behind them, the rush of an approaching electrical field started to fill the air. In a panic, Mirage shot up and onto the windowsill, scrambling up into the sand. “Time to go!”

“Mirage!” Lifeline exclaimed, though she was following right behind him. Bloodhound was in tow, both of them hurrying across the dry earth behind him as he barreled through the ramshackle settlement. Fussing with the display on his arm, Mirage checked the map, trying to get an idea of where the next circle was. Only a garbled static buzz was given in response.

“We’re so far out!” he warned. “We’re not gonna make it!”

“Just run!” Bloodhound called back.

Late in the game, the ring at their backs was drawing near at a startling rate. With a loud static rush, it swept over them, and they each gasped as the shocking burn overtook them. It was an electromagnetic wave designed to attack their nerves, and it was going to work at slowing their desperate sprint. Already somewhat used to the pain, Bloodhound was hustling ahead, diving down onto the patches of dry grass to gain speed. Their team followed suit, trying to use the environment to their advantage. Health dwindling, they managed a final burst of speed into a stone structure, each dashing in after the other as they left the scorch of the ring behind them.

Lifeline slumped into one of the nearby walls, gasping and clutching her chest. “All here?”

Bloodhound nodded, and Mirage uttered a breathless, “More or less.”

“Good. Drink up.” Waving, Lifeline sent out her D.O.C. drone, the cords from its base flinging out to attach to her team. Soothing bursts of a medicinal drug filled the three, and they took a second to catch their breath.

Laughing for a moment, Mirage glanced around. “Looks like we’re okay, yeah? That was close!”

“No,” Bloodhound started, the lenses of their mask lighting up. “We aren’t alone.”

The group fell silent, eyeing their surroundings with their weapons ready. Mirage and Lifeline followed Bloodhound’s gaze as they turned their head, pointing the barrel of their gun at a point outside the mouth of their enclosure. Before they could make a move, a shimmer of temporal smoke blossomed out of thin air, and a smirking Wraith appeared beside them.

“Got that right.”

\-----

In the dim atmosphere of a local bar, Mirage tipped back a cheap glass of vodka and cranberry, glancing up at a screen above the counter. The Apex match of a few days ago aired outdoor shots of combat, with team scores and fanfare for the champions. Of course, you didn't always die in King's Canyon, but it was a possibility that every participant felt on their backs as soon as they stepped on the airship. By some miracle he’d survived. Suffered horrendous bullet wounds that had to be staunched and grafted with incredible urgency, but he’d lived. Having run into Wraith’s team, which also coincidentally included Bangalore and Caustic, meant he had to be treated for a lot of toxic inhalants too. Lucky this gig paid pretty well…

“Hey. May I sit?”

Mirage was pulled from his thoughts as the sight of Bloodhound’s masked face appeared beside him. They were almost unnaturally quiet in heavy combat boots, enough that he didn't hear them approach. A sheepish flush overtook his face as he turned back to stare into his glass.

“Seat’s all yours.”

_“Þakka þér fyrir.”_

The scraping of the barstool was uncomfortable, like the biggest noise in what was really a loud and busy room. Mirage caught the eyes of other patrons scoping Bloodhound: the fallen champion whose streak had finally been broken. It amplified the twisting guilt in his stomach as the hunter calmly sat down, addressing neither him or any of the gossiping mercenaries in earshot. Gawking downward for a moment, Mirage decided to clear his throat.

“Listen, I…” he started, fidgeting with his drink. “I'm sorry for breaking your streak, and for...well you know. The other stuff.”

To his surprise, Bloodhound shrugged good-naturedly. “To live is to sometimes lose. I do not believe you are at fault for our team’s elimination, we were simply caught in unfortunate circumstances.”

Mirage chanced a look over. “So there's no anim...ana...b-bad blood between us? Over this?”

It was evident he wasn't really talking about Bloodhound’s champion record, at least not exclusively. “ _Nr_. This was not a transgression on your part. Most fortunate is that no cameras caught my...weaker moments.” They were now looking back at Mirage, hands on the bar in front of them. “I honestly appreciate your willingness to help me, despite the circumstances.”

Surprised, Mirage’s cheeks went from abashed red to a warm pink, and he raised his glass offhandedly. “It was nothing. Cheers to living to fight another day.”

Bloodhound chuckled, turning to get to their feet. “Agreed. And Elliot?”

“Yeah?” Mirage replied, caught off-guard by the use of his first name.

“Your debts have been settled, at least the ones I was able to look into. Get yourself a reasonable drink.”

Eyes wide, Mirage couldn't fight a barking laugh, swept up in elated realization. “For real? You're incredible!” He got to his feet beside the hunter, now excited and with an itch to enjoy himself. “I can't tell you how awesome this is! Debt-free! Woo hoo!”

“I'm glad for you. I hope we can fight together again in the future.”

Mirage was gleeful, but his face fell slightly as Bloodhound started to leave. He blurted, “Uh, hey, I know this is--! Er, would you uh...this might be weird to say but maybe we could...hang out...sometime before then? As associates, or like, uh, c-comrades? Pals?”

The hunter’s tone was somewhat stern, but he could hear that they were smiling beneath their mask. “Maybe. I'll get back to you.”

\-----

 

Translations:

Þakka þér fyrir = "Thank you"  
Helvíti = "Hell"; essentially a very tame curse  
Fjandinn = "Damn/Fuck"; a less tame curse  
Guðir = "Gods  
Skít = "Shit"; you get the idea  
Nr = No (not a typo)

Thanks for reading!


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